would be telling
by Fade131
Summary: The question better left unanswered is always the one he asks. Bronzeshipping with mentions of Thiefshipping.  Originally posted 8.22.2006


**Author's Note:** I know, I know, his name is Marik and his psychosis isn't a separate person. But I'd rather his name was Malik and Marik was the crazy one. So there. xD

...

..

So it wasn't what he'd always imagined, but he had the good sense to ignore it in favor of blocking out the pain Marik's fingernails sent shooting up his spine. Really, did he have to scratch so _hard_? He opened his mouth to say something - probably something angry, something unforgivable, something that would bring back the restraints and the knife and then he'd _really_ be sorry - but then he was being kissed, and he supposed he could keep it to himself.

"Malik?"

He didn't answer; he was drifting, he thought, mesmerized by the play of agony across his back. How had they gotten here?

"Malik, you'd better be listening to me..."

"What is it?" Drawn out groggily. He was tired, damnit, and hadn't he right to be, after what they'd just done?

"What were you thinking about?"

Oh. Not this question. He didn't like this question; it always led to more pain on his part, and always the entirely unpleasant kind. He was far too exhausted to answer this sort of question just now. He'd have to settle on confused, before Marik got too irritated.

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"What were you thinking about? When we-"

"Not much. As I recall, you were doing your very best to stop me from thinking _anything_." Except that wasn't true. He didn't need higher brain functions to remember that heated gaze, the press of another's body, the soft hiss of perfectly accented English in his ear. No, he could think about them just fine, no matter what Marik did to him. He'd never admit it.

"You think about _him_, don't you."

"That would be telling." He couldn't help it. He supposed his penchant for being annoying would get him into awful trouble very soon indeed, but then perhaps they'd save him again and he wouldn't have a knife tracing down his thigh right now.

"You love him."

Obviously. "What makes you say that?"

"Because I know it's him you're thinking of. Even when I make you scream, I can't get him out of your head. Can't make you forget him."

He'd never forget him. The knife was on his back now, sliding along the edge of a scar, not hard enough to make a mark. It made him shiver.

"I don't see why it should matter. I'm _here_, aren't I? With you. Not with him." Because he gave Bakura up, if only for a while, to appease Marik. In the hopes of not having to deal with another immature argument, of avoiding the sharp snick of the knife as it cut into his skin - too late. He only imagined it made a noise. He rather thought it should have.

"...lie to me if you have to, Malik. Tell me you don't love him. Tell me you'll stay with me, that you're mine. Say it. Please?"

The knife cut deeper, harsher, and it took all his willpower not to cry out. He couldn't say it. Marik's hand was bruising now, holding his wrists above his head. Damn him, that he should be so much younger and so much stronger at the same time.

"Why won't you say it?"

Because it felt like cheating him, even though he knew Malik was here, what he was doing, why he was doing it. He could cut the image in again, all of it, even though it would take an hour or more, and Malik wouldn't say it, any of it.

"I'm beginning to think you enjoy it when I hurt you, Malik."

Like hell he did. Struggling somehow produced a fair amount of rope to bind his wrists and it was like the altar in his father's room all over again.

"I'm beginning to think that your stubborn attitude is just another one of your games. But he doesn't hurt you, I know that."

He never would.

"I don't understand why you won't say it."

It would never be true. Just like all the lies his father told him, just like the story of the Pharaoh's return - it would never _really_ be true. Because if it was, he'd be hurt even more.

The marks were almost complete. He could feel the few heiroglyphics that hadn't been cut out yet, the flat of the knife resting against them. Marik was contemplating something. This was never a good sign. It was bad enough that his darkness wasn't mentally mature enough to understand what he was really doing, but when he started _thinking_ about it he got far too creative for Malik's peace of mind.

"Why can't you lie to me?"

Another unexpected question. He tried not to move too much before he answered. "...because you're the darkness, yami. Not me."

Marik laughed. "_I'm _the darkness?" The last two heiroglyphs were carved out with unusual strength. Malik whimpered. "I think you forget, my dear little light, that I am only what you made me."

As if he would ever forget, that he had wanted to hold the world in his hands, make all who had hurt him in the past bow before his wrath. Another childish dream. He didn't want that now.

_Liar._

The knife clattered against the table next to his head, shining with new blood.


End file.
